


Feeling Worthless

by Appa_yip_yip



Category: Lawrence of Arabia (1962)
Genre: Gay, Implied Ali/Lawrence, M/M, Violence, this does not have a happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-02
Updated: 2020-07-02
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:41:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25027903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Appa_yip_yip/pseuds/Appa_yip_yip
Summary: — This was written by Jessamine_of_the_west. I’m her beta. She’ll be added as the author shortly. These notes are from her...Sorry I posted a bit late, I was incredibly busy yesterday and the day before, and so I thought to myself, why not just postpone one day later? So, here y’all go: the fruit of one month of writing! One 2617-word-long oneshot! Hahahahahahahahahaha- sorry.Moving on, many thanks to the wonderful Appa-yip-yip, for encouraging me to not give up on this fic, sending me wonderful pictures of O’Toole and editing this fic, among many others. Seriously, you’re great :)Anyway, Happy Canada Day, and without further ado...A/N Be on the lookout for references - I LOVE references, and there are quite a few in this fanfiction. If you spot any, feel free to tell me!
Relationships: Ali ibn el Kharish/T. E. Lawrence
Comments: 3
Kudos: 9





	Feeling Worthless

**Author's Note:**

> — This was written by Jessamine_of_the_west. I’m her beta. She’ll be added as the author shortly. These notes are from her...
> 
> Sorry I posted a bit late, I was incredibly busy yesterday and the day before, and so I thought to myself, why not just postpone one day later? So, here y’all go: the fruit of one month of writing! One 2617-word-long oneshot! Hahahahahahahahahaha- sorry.  
> Moving on, many thanks to the wonderful Appa-yip-yip, for encouraging me to not give up on this fic, sending me wonderful pictures of O’Toole and editing this fic, among many others. Seriously, you’re great :)  
> Anyway, Happy Canada Day, and without further ado...  
> A/N Be on the lookout for references - I LOVE references, and there are quite a few in this fanfiction. If you spot any, feel free to tell me!

The sun had just begun to set over the hill tops, and stars were sprinkled over the pink sky. Lawrence sat under the bus shelter, his pale whitish-beige cardigan hanging loosely off his gaunt frame. People had not been as generous in their handouts lately, and Lawrence's thin body reflected that: he was starving, and it showed. With a quiet sigh, he stood, brushing dirt and small bits of gravel from the back of his pants. He began to walk towards a nearby convenience store.

_ Perhaps _ , he thought,  _ he could convince the cashier to give him some food. _

Lawrence rubbed his palms together, and then blew on them in an attempt to warm them up.

He had a feeling that it would be a long, cold night.

...

A warm gust of heated air and a chorus of tinkling, chiming bells greeted Lawrence as he entered the shop. He glanced around the store, and it was empty, save himself and the cashier. The cashier was a guy, with a clean-shaven face and tidy hair. He wore a simple light brown canvas jacket over a darker brown shirt, with a plain leather belt cinching a worn pair of jeans to his waist.

Lawrence meandered down an aisle and chose a bag of dried dates. He felt a lusty gaze on his back, and when he turned back around, he saw the cashier hurriedly look away from him. Having chosen his item, he walked back up the aisle to the cashier’s desk and placed the bag down. Lawrence noted that the man's name was 'William Potter'. William looked him over, taking in his relatively disheveled appearance, and frowned, but that glint in his eyes did not fade.

"You got the money to afford this?" he asked.

In a split second decision to play on his own good looks and the other man's lust, Lawrence smirked, his tongue darting out to lick his lower lip. "I don't have money," he began, letting the 'money' get drawn out.

William caught on instantly. "But... does it not hurt?"

"The trick, William Potter, is not minding that it hurts," he said casually.

Then the bell chimed as the door opened, and a well dressed woman walked in, wrinkling her nose in disgust upon seeing Lawrence in all his ragged, unkempt glory.

Suddenly William's demeanor changed. He scowled, and snarled, "get out. I don't want to see the likes of you around here."

Lawrence hesitated. "May I at least keep the dates?"

"No," spat William.

Lawrence sighed and left, heading from the warm convenience store to the cold, gusty wind outside and hollow darkness.

...

Lawrence wandered aimlessly down the streets, trying to find a place where he could sleep. Then it struck him: he could go crawling back to his ex boyfriend and beg him to let him stay the night. Now that he had a purpose, he began walking faster, heading towards the sheriff's place of residence: 1962, Lawli Rd.

...

Finally, after what seemed like ages, guided only by the dimly flickering street-lights (the sun had already disappeared), Lawrence found the sheriff's house. There was a faint orange glow seeping out of the closed blinds, and he smiled to himself.

_ So he is home,  _ he thought to himself. He crept forward and knocked on the door. He heard unintelligible, angry muttering and footsteps, and then the door opened.

Sheriff Ali ibn el Kharish peered blearily at his ex boyfriend. He looked tired - his hair was ruffled, and there were bags under his eyes. Despite this, Ali was as handsome as he was when he had broken up with him "Aurence? What the  _ hell  _ are you doing?" he exclaimed. "It’s nearly 10 pm!"

Lawrence shifted his weight from foot to foot.  _ Ali is just so cute when he is mad _ , he thought.

"I..." he began.

"And why are you  _ here,  _ of all the damn places that you could be?" Ali raged, running his hands through his hair.

Lawrence looked away. “It's… personal.”

“Really?” accused Ali, glaring at him with a hatred so intense that it was hard to believe that this was the same man who had whispered sweet nothings into his ear oh-so-many months ago.

“Look,” Lawrence said, glancing back at him with pleading eyes. “I’m sorry. I miss you, and-”

“Take your lies elsewhere,” Ali snarled, and slammed the door in Lawrence’s face.

Lawrence stood there in stunned silence for several seconds. Then he cautiously approached the door again, raising his hand to knock.

“Go  _ away _ !” Ali yelled from behind the door. “You left me before, you can do it again!”

Slowly, with a heavy heart and an uneasy mind, Lawrence backed away from Sheriff Ali ibn el Kharish’s warm but uninviting home, and retreated into the darkness.

…

Lawrence had found himself a somewhat comfortable park bench located across from the pub ( _ which was still open _ , he noted) and had been intending to sleep, when his stomach, which he had been trying to ignore, gave a painful rumble. He sighed, and decided to try his luck at getting a free hand out at the pub.

…

It was loud and crowded in the pub, which stank of sweat and beer. Lawrence wove his way through the throngs of people, searching for someone who looked like they would take pity on him and buy him a meal. He saw a woman who was very much drunk, and made his way up to her.

He tapped her on the shoulder and said, “excuse me, madam, but can you buy me a meal?”

The woman looked him over and scowled. “Go find your own damn meal.”

Unfazed, Lawrence moved on to the next person, and then the next, each one giving him a similar reply to the one that the woman had given him.

Finally, several rejections later, Lawrence slid into an empty seat and fingered the hem of his sleeve, wondering what to do next. Then, quite randomly, two men walked up to the table. “

“Mind if we sit here?” one of them asked.

Lawrence shrugged, appearing quite unconcerned, although inwardly, he was smiling to himself. Perhaps these were the people he would be able to coax a meal from. After all, they were somewhat friendly and outgoing - just the kind of people that he normally got handouts from.

The taller man of the two looked over at the bartender, then back at his friend. Then he looked at Lawrence.

“Want a beer?” he asked. He had an accent that Lawrence could not place: it was thick and sounded somewhat Middle Eastern.

His friend nodded. “Sure.”

Lawrence did not say anything.

“Well?” prompted the man. “Beer or no beer?”

Lawrence licked his lower lip nervously. “I… do not drink beer,” he said.

“Oh. What do you want, then?” the man asked. Then he paused, and said, “you can call me Bey.”

Lawrence nodded. “Ok. Well, I would not mind having a lemonade.”

“Alright,” Bey said, with a smile not unlike that of a shark’s, “two beers and one lemonade.”

He left, leaving Lawrence alone at the table with the other man, who introduced himself as Fernando.

Finally, after a long wait and a rather awkward conversation, Bey came back with two beers and an iced lemonade.

“Here,” he said, handing Fernando a beer and Lawrence the lemonade.

“Thank you,” said Lawrence, cautiously taking a sip.

It was a good lemonade, tart and sweet at the same time, and condensation ran down the sides of the glass and onto Lawrence’s hands.

“Do you like it?” asked Bey.

“Y-yes,” Lawrence answered, taking another sip.

Bey turned back around to face the bartender. “He likes your lemonade!” he called, and the bartender laughed.

As Bey moved to face Lawrence again, Lawrence saw a glimpse of a clear glass bottle within Bey’s inner coat pocket. There was a liquid inside the bottle. Lawrence felt a sudden jolt of fear, but he tampered it down.

_ Relax,  _ he told himself.  _ Who would spike  _ your  _ drink, of all people? _

He lifted the cup to his mouth again. Lemonade trickled into his mouth, sweet and lemony. He swallowed.

When he set the cup down, he noticed that both Bey and Fernando were watching him.

_ Oh dear Lord. _

“Is- is something wrong?” he asked.

Bey shook his head. “No, not at all.”

Unreasurred, Lawrence looked at him carefully. Bey met his gaze, but Lawrence could tell that something was amiss.

He made a big show of looking at the clock on the wall and saying that his “wife” would be worried about him, that he had not realized how late it was.

He stood, thanking Bey for the lemonade, and hurried away from them, out of the pub and into the night.

Again.

…

Lawrence had only made around the corner of the pub when the wooziness hit. He tried to pass it off as a hunger-related thing, but then he heard footsteps.

He was alone on the street, that he could tell, but the footsteps… He blinked, his breath hitching in his throat. Suddenly he saw them: two shadows, dark, hulking silhouettes, that crept toward him.

_ Where did they come from? _ he thought, fighting to retain some sense of rational thought.

“B-back off,” he stammered, trying to get farther away from them. “I-I’ll call the police-”

_ I wonder if Ali would pick up,  _ he thought to himself.  _ No, I do not think he would. _

Lawrence heard a dark chuckle.

_ Maybe it is not hunger induced,  _ he thought dimly,  _ maybe- _

He felt his foot catch on a rock. His arms pinwheeled wildly as he fought to regain his balance.

Suddenly he was falling, and then he was on the ground, trying to scramble to his feet, trying to get away, in any way. He sucked in a breath, preparing to call for help, but then someone kicked him in the ribcage, and he fell back down again, coughing.

Then they were  _ there,  _ beside him, grasping at his arms and legs and-

_ Oh no… oh nononononono… _

Lawrence hated being touched, unless he  _ wanted  _ to be touched. The only person that he let touch him in  _ that  _ way was Ali. He tried to push back the rising wave of panic and thrashed out with his arm. He felt it connect with something hard, like a bone of some sort, and heard a hiss of pain. Then his cheek was on fire, having been slapped with incredible force.

“Hold him properly, dammit,” someone snarled.

Lawrence felt a hand squeezing his windpipe. He clawed at it, and then his arms were yanked away, pinned beneath something - a knee, maybe.

_ I know that voice,  _ Lawrence thought as he renewed his efforts to escape.

He struggled to put a face to the voice, and then it clicked.

_ Bey. _

He was choking, unable to breathe. He tried to do something, anything, to get a breath of air, but already, the stars, once so brilliantly shining, began to cloud over, a thick, darkness creeping into his vision.

_ Ali,  _ he thought as he fell into unconsciousness,  _ I am sorry- _

…

Unfortunately, they had waited for him to wake before they started, so he was conscious and aware of what was happening to him. They had taken him somewhere, and smooth, cold concrete pressed against his skin, reminding him that this was real, this was happening. At first, he had tried not to scream, but the pain and humiliation became overwhelming, and then he could not hold back.

Lawrence longed for them to be done with him, to leave him alone with his misery and agony.

He had begged them to stop. They had ignored him. Now he just lay there, occasionally whimpering, sometimes screaming, although his throat was now so hoarse that he tried not to. For the most part, he tried to keep as still as possible, tried to imagine that he was not getting raped; that it was Ali on top of him, even though Ali had never,  _ never  _ been that rough with him. In fact, the two of them had not done it with each other since Ali had always been too scared to, even though Lawrence had begged him.

Lawrence bit his lower lip and closed his eyes. 

_ Perhaps,  _ he thought,  _ perhaps they will kill me once they are done with me. _

He smiled inwardly.

…

Finally, they left him, after they had beaten him nearly senseless. When the pain subsided to a dull throb, Lawrence tried to roll over and sit up. Just this motion brought tears to his eyes. He fought back the sobs that lingered at the back of his throat, and tried to sit up again. Once more, he failed. He hiccoughed and lifted his gaze up from the cool cement and looked around himself. He was in one of those underground parking lots, and completely alone. There were no cars around him, but not too far away, maybe two meters, Lawrence could make out a support pillar. Another quick glance around revealed six more pillars, but no visible exit. A dim yellow light flickered feebly around the corner, just barely lighting the space he was in. Lawrence exhaled slowly. 

_ If I can make it to that support,  _ he wondered to himself,  _ maybe I can take a quick break and make it to that light. Maybe that light  _ is  _ the exit. _

With this prospect in his mind, he tried to sit up, but once again, failed. He let his body relax against the pavement beneath him, but immediately regretted it, for suddenly it was as if  _ they  _ were still there. Lawrence could practically feel them breathing down his neck, hear the taunts and insults they jeered at him. He flinched, even though there was no one with him. 

_ Well, I am not alone, in a way. I have my traitorous mind to keep me company. _

He bit his lip and slowly attempted to sit up. This time, he was able to. After a quick break, he tried to stand, but that was pure agony. Lawrence had never felt so helpless in his life. He noticed his clothes were in a pile not too far from him, so he scooched over, trying to ignore the hurt that stabbed into him, and slowly pulled on his T-shirt, cardigan and 

He swallowed hard, and tried again. 

_ This is all your fault,  _ his mind whispered at him.  _ You could have avoided this. You are  _ worthless.  _ No one wants you. Not even Ali. He  _ hates  _ you. That is why he turned you away from his door.  _

Lawrence did his best to ignore the voice, but it spewed so many horrible things that, after a while, he nearly started to believe it.

_ Yes, you are right,  _ he thought back,  _ I  _ am  _ worthless. Just, please, let me say sorry. _

At this, the voice in his head quieted, and Lawrence attempted to continue to stand. Finally, he managed to rise shakily and painfully to his feet. He locked his eyes on the pillar in front of him and took a wobbly step forward. Instantly, pain shot through his core, making him stumble.

Lawrence cried out as he crashed to the floor.

_ What am I thinking?  _ he thought,  _ I can’t do this.  _

He curled up into a fetal position. He felt sticky, sickly and tainted.

_ I’ll just rest here. Oh, Ali… I’m sorry- _

His breath came in ragged gasps, tears seeping out of the corners of his eyes and slipping down his cheeks. He could taste the salt from the tears in his mouth mixing with the iron taste of blood from where he had bitten his tongue when he fell. 

_ I’m sorry…  _

Lawrence’s hands clenched around his cardigan. 

_ I am so sorry... _

  
  


~the end~

  
  


A/N but if you want a happy-ish ending, we might continue this :) All you have to do is ask!


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